ryguy266
Active member
It's official. This is a series now (more like an anthology). This is a collection of stories of my favorite games and favorite moments in Heroscape, written in the fashion of fictional short stories. I'm calling them "Myths of Valhalla" because none of these are intended to be canon or connected with each other at all. Some of them may be pretty intense, some of them may be pretty goofy. Some are shorter, some are longer. Under each header there are some brief notes before each story, detailing what game the story was from and why I chose to write about it. They're listed top to bottom in reverse order of writing, but they can be read in any order.
Please enjoy my newest story, Sniper.
Sniper
This myth has been written for quite some time, and in anticipation of my online tournament starring Dr. Maverick, I've been saving this story of Deadeye Dan. The myth comes from a casual game against Chris Perkins where I ran a practice game for a Scapecon event. The event in question was Delta Rainbow Wars, although Chris did so well at all the Scapecon main events that he ended up not playing in this event. The format called for at least 55 points from 5 different generals. A Kurrok army fit well in this, and I like the elementals, so I played it into his wyrmlings and phantom knights army. With 55 points left, Dan fit perfectly into my build (in Delta). Sharp readers with knowledge of Dan's card and abilities might catch why the ending was so stunning, and so memorable. And of course, I took a lot of creativity with the backstory of the game. Enjoy!
The ground squelched under Dan’s boots as he trudged up the hillside, swatting the mosquito buzzing around his ear. The silence was short-lived among the cacophony of frogs, bugs, and birds in the dusk of the marsh. The dampness of the grass faded as he scrambled up the small incline, leaving the shade of the occasional tree behind.
This is where Ullar places me? After all the work I’ve done patching his troops. He doesn’t see me as a soldier, not ol’ Dan Maverick. Send him out to clear out the buffalo, away from the fighting.
He still remembered the glint in Mr. Pierce’s eyes as Miss Crawford headed out on assignment with him. Murphy and Sullivan had joined, of course. They’d even taken that snake McCreech.
“Sorry, I prefer someone who can handle a gun,” Pierce said with a smirk. “You best stay with the wounded, doctor. We wouldn’t want you getting in our way.”
That was the last time he’d seen any of them. Word had gotten out about a leak in Jandar’s forces. Well, that wasn’t any of his concern. He’d been sent out here to round up one of Utgar’s own defectors. Dan didn’t know the fellow, but he’d heard some cockamamied tale about elemental forces working on the man. And as Ullar had no stake in the elemental game, Dr. Dan Maverick was sent out to collect him.
They think this is all I’m good for. Bandaging up elves by day, and acting as a delivery boy at night! I’ll get a chance to prove myself soon enough.
A loud fwoosh spilled across the orchestra of evening critters. Dan paused. He’d spent many nights out on the range, and he knew the sound of a campfire being extinguished.
Who’d be setting up camp out here?
Dan reached behind his back and unstrapped his rifle. The .50 cal Sharps was the last relic of his life on Earth. Cradling it in his arms brought back memories of prairie life, of simpler times, of his fa—
Dan shook those thoughts away. No use sinking into the past again. Not when he had the future just up the embankment. He slunk up the hill, his weapon at the ready, as the rush of extinguished flames came more rapidly.
Fire flared across the marsh. A large creature, grotesque in nature, danced around the reeds, his staff commanding the flame. Ghostly figures flickered in and out of vision, striking at the flames, and at the creature.
This is what commands the elementals? And those apparitions—that is Utgar’s doing! Then that means—
The last of the flames died. The phantoms closed in, and the creature, which Dan now knew to be the defector, swung at them with his staff, dispelling the images while their spectral swords pierced its side. The last phantom collided with the creature, and it splashed into the marsh, fully prone. The phantom swung its sword down, which the creature blocked with its staff. The creature looked across the field to Dan as it struggled to keep the blade above its throat. A garbled voice punctured the twilight.
“Help me!” it cried.
“Help me, daddy!”
Dan laughed, tying the laces on the doll’s boots and handing her to his giggling daughter.
“One of these days, you’ll have to learn that yourself,” he said, grinning.
“I’m headed to the bank with Eva, dear,” Adelaide said. “You’ll be along shortly, won’t you?”
Dan glanced at the papers on his desk. “I’ll be right down. Tell Lester I said hello, and that he’d be welcome in for his yearly checkup any time. He’s about five years overdue by my count.”
Adelaide smiled. “I’m sure he’ll be delighted for his yearly reminder. Come along, Eva. Say goodbye.”
The little girl with short brunette pigtails by her leg waved her doll around. “Goodbye, daddy!”
Dan returned her small wave. “Goodbye, Eva. I will see you both tonight for supper.”
They left Dan to his work, of which he had very little. Life was quiet in Lead, a drastic change from the bustle of the Chicago streets. And while Dan did miss electricity, he wouldn’t trade his plot on the prairie for the world. After all, he’d met Adelaide here, back when he was a young physician. The simple life they’d built for themselves was outshone by any amenity the modern world could afford.
A cat meowed outside, reminding Dan to shuffle his papers away. He took his hat from the coat rack just inside his small, makeshift office in their house. A storm was coming, and his hair didn’t sit quite right when it rained.
He saddled their horse, petting the needy, former stray. He’d catch up to Adelaide and Eva quickly, though the walk to town was short. They might already be in the bank; it was in his interest to hurry. He’d promised Eva a dinner at the saloon tonight, and she was quite a handful when she was hungry.
The wind at his back picked up as he trotted into town. The clouds, darkening the evening sun, seemed to be moving away. Yet the strength of the breeze hid the cries of fear until it was too late.
He turned onto Main Street. The bank sat halfway down the short stretch of dirt, and was completely deserted, save for one masked man. A gunshot fired, wood splintered, and screams rang out even against the wind.
Dan snapped the reins, tugging the bit away. Over his shoulder, he saw the masked man raise his pistol. Dan unhooked himself from the saddle and tumbled over the side. His bones rattled as he slammed into the dirt. The bullet sung through the saddle, burning a line across the leather. Through his horse’s legs, he drew his own pistol and put a bullet straight through the man’s chest. The masked man jerked and collapsed.
Dan scrambled to his feet. Bandits. This had happened before, once, just after he’d moved to the frontier. There would be more, and this pistol wouldn’t do it. He climbed back on the horse, racing for the farmhouse and praying.
In minutes, he had his trusty Sharps strapped to his back while he scrambled up the back of the grocery store. He took up a post on the roof, peering into the windows of the bank. Men with bandanas rushed around, waving pistols at the employees. And in the corner—Adelaide and Eva cowered under the watchful eye of a bandit.
Dan’s eyes darkened, matching the clouds above. How dare that man frighten his family! He would be first.
Dan squeezed the trigger, feeling the extension of himself buck in his arms. Chaos erupted from the bank as the window exploded. Glass shattering, women screaming, bandits shouting, storm clouds rumbling. The bandits pressed themselves against cover in the bank, but Dan was merciless, dropping them one at a time as bullets kicked up brick next to him.
Movement caught his eye. His wife and daughter, dragged out by the last two bandits, pistols pointed right at their faces. Adelaide struggled against the bandit, but his other arm locked tight around her throat.
“Stay still,” Dan murmured, as she looked up to meet his gaze. “Don’t move.”
Cold steel pressed against the back of his neck. “Funny. I was thinking the same thing.”
Adelaide dug her fingers into the bandit’s arm while Eva wailed. Though the chokehold she locked eyes with Dan. And behind her, his daughter screamed.
“Help me, daddy!”
Dan swung up the rifle, his hands folding into the gun with the instinct of a man who’d fired it a thousand times.
I won’t fail again.
He grimaced at the inscription on the side of the gun while the phantom’s blade edged closer to the creature’s throat. There wasn’t time for the enchantment to activate. This was a good, old-fashioned hunting shot.
Dan looked down the open sights, graduated out well past the phantom. He breathed, and his heartbeat slowed.
The crack of the gunshot quieted the nighttime symphony, if only for a moment. When the critters returned to their evening song, the phantom was gone, its ghostly blade dispelled with the others. The creature, some type of goblin-esque form, picked itself up from the murky, shallow water and limped over to Dan.
“Thank you,” it said, the words half growl and half warble.
“Are you Kurrok?”
“I am.”
“I’m Dr. Dan Maverick. I’m here to escort you to safety on behalf of the alliance. But first, sit while I dress your wounds.”
The creature obeyed, gratitude swirling in its obsidian eyes. The hobgoblin laid in the cool grass while Dan bandaged up the cuts on its body. And as the Sharps rifle glinted in the rising moonlight, his heartache eased, just for a moment.
Trophy
In a short break from the typical myth format, this one is not about a real-life Heroscape game. This was a bio I wrote for a unit I submitted to an NGC contest. The unit was spooky, but unfortunately the bios weren't displayed with the units. I think this vignette is too fun to not have any eyes on it, so here it is! (TW: This is the most gruesome one yet. Happy Halloween!)
I also tossed in a photo of the unit and the card so you have a visual while you read:
Mini:
Card:
Trophy
The hunter pulled the collar of his fur coat closer to his chin. A strong gust, unusual in the dense forest, whipped across his face, stinging any exposed skin it could.
“Dad, what are you doing?” another man whined. He scuffed his boot against the corpse at his feet, a beautiful stag with a hole in its neck. “Take a picture already!” His friend laughed as the body shook from the impact and swung his own leg into the rear of the creature.
“Look, it’s trying to get away!” his friend mocked, driving his foot into the barrow. The massive carcass jerked, and the hunter’s son joined in, tossing his own gun into the snow.
The hunter smirked, watching the men kick his future wall mount. He held up his camera, the small device he carried around to document the sport. Every kill needed a frame, and this was the biggest he’d ever bagged. Nothing would match this trophy.
He looked through the lens, unfocused through the thin haze in the trees. The man wiped his nose and scrubbed the lens, smearing a few snowflakes across the screen.
Screams ripped through the frozen air as his son slammed into a tree. Blood spurted from holes in his chest and neck. He scraped up along the trunk, the bark shredding the skin off his back. His friend whipped his gun around, yelling at the hunter's son but unsure of what to shoot. Chunks of flesh tore away from the son's face, pulling off his cheeks and eyes. The friend fired, putting a bullet into the son’s skull and silencing the piercing shrieks.
The friend felt a sharp tug. His head was wet, and so hot. Something else drove deep into his ribs. He tried to look down, but he couldn’t move his head. Hands reached up to feel the blood-stained antler rammed through his throat. His chest cavity split open, torn apart by the same unseen force. The halves of his body flung into the trees, spraying red onto the pristine ice crystals on the pine needles.
The hunter dropped the camera, pinned to his spot in the snow. The camera landed at an angle, pointing up above the stag. Through the lens, a hulking creature turned away from the carcass and toward the hunter. A long maw with sharp fangs snarled, and the creature stood, towering over the man. Its powerful hind legs stalked toward him, making no imprint on the snow.
Lengthy claws reached through the man’s chest, inflicting no wounds but taking something far, far more valuable. Its head snapped open, devouring the intangible. When its feast was over, it discarded the body. The hunter thudded against a tree and tumbled to the ground. His intact form would be a clue to the other invaders. No human would take life in this forest again.
And if they did, well…
Vetrskraak was waiting.
Hero
This is my all-time favorite moment from Heroscape. This was a game between my girlfriend and I. She had built a large castle map where the castle was a ring with lava pools in the middle, and the Wannok glyph in the dead center of that. The game got super tense, and the ending was shocking, to say the least, especially because of how the battle swung at the end and how abruptly it all happened. I've been wanting to write this one for a while. I have more stories in mind but in my opinion, I don't think this will ever be topped! (Whether or not I've portrayed this properly will be up to you. Enjoy!)
Hero
Agent Carr spat the muddy taste of orc blood from his mouth. Sunlight reflected off the castle walk, seared smooth from heat rising from the bubbling lava below. The glint blinded an orc, sending the baying brute tumbling to his death in the molten rock.
Carr grinned, facing down the army of orcs standing across the crumbled center of the castle top. The Einar support was worthless, anyway. The general sent his troops in elite squads of three, but Carr only needed three things: his gun, his sword, and his tunes.
Carr dialed in his earbuds. A gift from the Omnicrons, it loaded up exactly the song in his head. And today he was feeling…classical. The orc leader, strapped atop a massive dinosaur, screamed and thrust his sword in Carr’s direction. The dinosaur’s feet dug into the stone, and the orcs charged toward him, their cries drowned out by his humming to an ancient, 20th century song.
Holdin’ out for a hero…
Carr fired, popping the heads of the nearest orcs. The others clambered over the bodies, barely noticing their fallen brethren. The sword, longer than he was tall, sung through the air, taking off three more heads.
He’s gotta be strong, and he’s gotta be fast…
Carr whirled through the blade gruts, leaping off the old castle battlements and throwing their own small blades back at the gruts. As they overwhelmed him, he smacked his gun against his sword and spun, firing and slicing in the same movement.
And he’s gotta be fresh from the fight…
Carr smirked, blood pouring from his wounds, electrified from the adrenaline. The orc leader bore down on him, the thunderous steps from the dinosaur shaking the foundation of the castle. Carr used the piles of bodies as stepping stones, bounding up toward it. The monster snapped at him, but he flipped above the gaping maw, landing on its scaly skull. He drove the sword straight through its brain, and the death throes threw both riders from its body.
I need a hero…
The music faded. The orc leader stared him down, holding out the spear. Confidence filled the creature’s face. It had survived countless battles, killed enemies and allies alike. This was an elite orc officer, and its prowess in hand to hand combat was unmatched. The orc snapped the spear upright and shifted its feet into a fighting stance.
Carr pulled the trigger. The body jerked back and crumpled next to the tail of the beast.
I am a hero… Carr hummed to himself.
Down below, a lone Soulborg marched toward its prize, a glowing skull set dead center in the lava-strewn paths of the castle. This was the key, an artifact that would change the course of the war. The vestige had already destroyed the Zettian’s companion, but it had no protocols to register the loss. The servos whirred as it stalked toward it, the heat radiating off the heavy armor. At last, its primary objective would be achieved.
The movement caught Carr’s eye. He held up a hand to block the sun as he teetered on the edge of the castle battlements. He recognized the insignia on the shoulder plate—Utgar. The Soulborg’s oculi rotated toward a shape just outside the castle. One of Einar’s, a samurai engaged in combat with two orcs. The only other survivor of the battle, and the target of the relic’s power. Already, as the Soulborg reached for the glowing skull, thin tendrils of light connected it to the samurai.
Carr eyed the sixty-foot drop. In his head, the song sprung to life. He pulled sunglasses from his pocket and slid them over his nose. His battles played in his head, like when he faced down a horde of zombies in the abandoned Kyrie village, or when he used an Omnicron engine to jet himself up to a dragon and slay it. Some had called him the most badass man to ever live; he just called it going to work. Carr took a running step back and leapt into the air.
I am a hero!
The Soulborg head rotated, tracking the human missile as it screamed down toward him, the sword aimed directly at its chest.
Crunch.
The Soulborg observed the splatter of bones and organs at its feet. Motion tracking software scanned the smear of blood, looking for any signs of life. The visual analysis returned, and the result was almost surprising to the robot; the human was more dead than it had ever seen any human be dead before. The Soulborg turned, even slower as the logic circuit struggled to process what it had just seen. The samurai sprinted toward the Soulborg, the dead gruts strewn behind him. The barrel touched the skull as the samurai lunged for it. The artifact glowed, filling the cavern with impossible light.
When the Soulborg’s visuals returned, only a thin pile of dust was left of the samurai. It picked up the skull and began the slow march away from the castle. Utgar would be pleased.
Marshmallows
This story is partly to address a critique from Tales of Valhalla Podcast, and partly to show off the badassery of Kaemon Awa. This game was from an OHS playoff game between Megasilver and myself. It was brought to mind because ToV requested some Airborne, and this game was funny because the Airborne [redacted] and Kaemon essentially soloed an entire army. This one is definitely less serious, and I hope ToV doesn't mind me infringing on their IP (this was their idea, after all). This story wouldn't be the same without the Aftermath Chronicles. Enjoy!
Marshmallows
Kaemon Awa leaned against a tree, the rough palm bark scraping into his armor. This area was supposed to be clear, yet jungle brush spread throughout the cracked roads and desolate pillars. A holy site or a trading market—whatever once stood, it had succumbed completely to nature. How old were those reports that they still marked sniper positions? No, a different approach was necessary. The Marro scouting advance would stay hidden for now, but stealth was a closer friend to Kaemon.
He advanced down the road, bow drawn. Wind rustled the jungle brush, the breeze cooling his back. Good. A strong tailwind would only expedite the arrival of his support.
The leaves twisted and bent. Kaemon drew his bow, firing into the bark of a tree. Branches settled, but his bowstring remained taught. That was no wind.
Guttural cries pierced the howls of the wind as creatures tore themselves from the trees, clawing and slicing at Kaemon. He let loose, arrows shredding the leaves, but the projectiles embedded themselves in the trees instead. The humanoids lunged at him again, extending themselves into the road, and this time the arrows thudded into their skulls. He pulled the arrows from the bodies and nocked them into his bow as more howls echoed around him.
***
“Drop zone is approaching!” Lt. Dan barked. “Kaemon Awa is solo in enemy territory, and he needs an extraction ASAP!”
“Yessir!” Henderson and Gimp fastened their parachutes as the airship dipped in the strong winds.
“Sir, what’s an ‘extraction’?” Toothpick asked.
“Wind speeds are not ideal,” Lt. Dan continued, ignoring him, “but we’re well past listening to sense! That man down there is the strongest warrior Einar has, and we’re not letting him go down without a fight!”
“Yessir!” Toothpick shouted, reaching to his belt, and pulling the pin on a grenade.
“Toothpick!”
***
Kaemon raced through the jungle brush, hacking at the plant creatures with his sword. The distant thunder grew louder, drowning out the wind. He drew his bow again, letting loose arrows down the slope. The roar hit him like a tidal wave, knocking him to his feet. Ice crystals hung from his snapped bowstring, and his metal armor bit into his skin. He gasped, diving behind a tree as three vicious heads snapped at him. He lunged over the chimera’s wings, running along the scales and plunging his sword into its back. The heads twisted and flailed as the blizzard blasted him from the monster. He slid to a stop as an explosion rocked the forest. Where the hell were the Airborne Elite?
***
“That might be the dumbest thing you’ve ever done,” Henderson said, looking at the crater far below. “And I once saw you try to pet a rock.”
“I swear it was moving!” Toothpick insisted.
“Doesn’t matter,” Lt. Dan said, pulling himself to the side of the airship. “This is our opening, now or never!”
“Wait!” Toothpick cried as Gimp leaned out the side. “Can’t you read me a bedtime story first?”
***
Kaemon leaned against the tree, his eyes closed. Once glance and he could picture the whole glade. One crunch on a blade of grass and he could picture the Marro stepping in just the right spot.
He whipped around, releasing the bow. Thump.
The Marro’s body crumpled to the ground. He spun back behind the tree, picturing the others’ confusion. What was the weapon, where did the arrows come from, were there more…?
Yes, there were. He leaned from behind the tree. Thump.
The Marro returned fire, blasting wildly in his direction. Thump.
The firing slowed, the last of them retreating. Thump.
He drew his sword as a winged shadow fell over the tree.
***
“Toothpick, what’s gotten into you? A bedtime story? It’s the middle of the afternoon! We’ve gotta drop right now!”
Toothpick averted his eyes from the lieutenant.
“You know how you told me to pack the parachutes? And…remember how I said I wanted to bring a snack along for the flight?”
Henderson unstrapped his chute, turning the bag upside down to empty its contents. Marshmallows spilled from the bag and scattered over the floor.
“I almost jumped, too!” Gimp said, opening his pack to find even more marshmallows.
“Where did you even find marshmallows on Valhalla?” Lt. Dan asked, too stunned to be angry.
“Well, you know how the air elementals look so fluffy? They have some cousins called the marsh mallowmentals, and they just poop these things out wherever they go…”
Lt. Dan buried his head in his hands.
“Turn the ship around, Nesbitt,” he said, looking out into the jungle. “God help him…”
***
Swords clashed as the wind raged. Kaemon swung at the hooded Kyrie, who blocked every blow with powerful strikes. The weight of the battle pressed on the samurai, and one last hit snapped his sword in half. The Kyrie thrust, slicing through Kaemon’s stomach. He gasped, crumpling to the ground. The Kyrie stepped over him, raising his sword. The hood fell away, pulled back by the maelstrom.
“For the glory of Utgar,” Concan intoned.
A huge hammer smashed into Concan’s wings. The air shimmered and waved as the Sentinels of Grax blipped in and out, slicing and crushing the Kyrie. One final blow rent Concan’s skull asunder, and he fell to the grass next to Kaemon.
The silent Sentinels held out their hands, pulling Kaemon to his feet. Kaemon bowed, and they bent low as well, their robes flowing, disappearing, and regenerating. As they escorted him back to the path and away from the jungle, Kaemon looked to the sky, wondering what this betrayal would mean.
Silence
This story is from a game during a tournament I had very recently, during January of 2023. I hosted this tournament in Nebraska, so I'd brought a pretty weird army of 4x Granite Guardians and Johnny Sullivan. My opponent was really funny and friendly, and that was one of the most fun games I've ever played as we both had pretty goofy armies. However, the ending really sealed the deal for me as one of my top games ever. Enjoy!
Silence
A whimper floated through the air, piercing the stillness of the forest. Johnny Sullivan opened his eyes, a scowl plastered under his mustache.
Is it too much to ask for a little silence?
He lashed out, his boot smashing into the face of the wounded Anubian Wolf. Fangs splattered across the mossy stones, the grotesque body convulsing in death throes.
Better put that varmint outta its misery.
The shotgun blast echoed through the trees. Birds screeched and took flight, evacuating their perches on the looming, twisting branches.
Johnny winced. The ringing in his ear grew with each blast, and now it wouldn’t fade. He spat on the carcass, regretting that he’d wasted his last moment of silence on an Utgar grunt.
Stones shifted by the tree next to him. Gravel and granite swirled from the dirt until a mass of heaving rock taller than he stood next to him.
“Howdy,” Johnny drawled, tipping the brim of his hat. “Thought you boys might be barn sour the way I left ya behind. Y’all finish of the last of ‘em?”
The Granite Guardian lifted its arm, a mass of dusty coal. The end formed into a recognizable gesture. It was signaling a number. One.
“Whacha mean? One left?” Johnny shrugged. “No odds to me.”
The elementar lowered its arm.
“What? Y’all can’t scare up one wolf?”
He glared at the sentient stone. Indents at the top gave the impression of eyes. And in those eyes were mountains of fear.
Wind rustled the leaves, blowing a thick aura over the desolate path. Johnny blinked as the darkness grew, swallowing down the overwhelming fear. He gritted his teeth and wiped his brow with a clammy hand. His heart constricted in his chest, squeezing and squeezing until it might burst.
Johnny dropped to his knees, reaching out a hand to warn the guardian. That dread could only mean one thing.
“Esenwein,” he gasped.
A screaming flurry of crimson terror burst from the trees, crashing into Johnny and throwing him down the path. His knuckles cracked on the ruined pavement, knocking the shotgun from his hand. The guardian groaned as the beast flailed at its chest, tearing the elementar apart.
Get the gun, dammit. Get the gun!
His vision blurred, the stench of fear burying itself deep behind his eyes.
Get the gun.
His fingers stretched toward the weapon.
Get…the…gun…
His hand grasped the barrel. A surge of confidence shot through him, and he rolled onto his back, aiming the shotgun at the creature.
Its eyes turned to pierce his soul. Blood and spittle dripped from its chin. Its scarred, distorted face sneered at him, claws still twitching from the kill. But there was no mistaking those eyes. The monster was still an Esenwein.
His finger rested on the trigger. The creature shifted, bounding away through the trees. He squeezed, the shot piercing its shoulder as it fled. It howled a violent, soul-rending shriek before vanishing behind a tree.
Johnny scrambled to his feet, charging down the path and hurdling over crumbling building foundations. He rounded the bend to see the Esenwein creature tearing into another guardian. Its head thrust into the rock, sputtering and choking. Johnny watched in horror as the wound on its shoulder healed.
He fired again. The Esenwein took flight, bounding between trees and clawing at the guardians.
“Run!” Johnny bellowed, but the guardians could hardly move. He swung the barrel level again, but the creature alighted over a crumbled wall. A terrified guardian scraped from behind the ruin, but bloodred hands restrained it.
Johnny swung the sight around. This was his only chance, before it destroyed the rest of the guardian advance and came for him.
He breathed. The ringing in his ears finally settled, allowing him a moment of peace that cut through the darkness. He could see his target clearly, the guardian in the creature’s clutches.
“Give Iskra my regards.”
The explosion rocked the forest. Dust and stone shredded the trees and ruin, wiping out the area. Johnny ducked his head as gravel stung his face and hands. He coughed, wiping the grit from his eyes.
The creature’s body slumped against the ruins, torn to bits. Nothing could bring it back.
The other guardians turned to face him. Johnny gripped the gun, but instead they bent, seemingly bowing in gratitude. The wall of stone sank into the ground, disappearing until not a single pebble remained.
Cool, crisp air blew across the gunslinger’s face as sunlight glittered through the trees. Johnny closed his eyes, breathing in the sweet, sweet silence.
Betrayal
My gf and I played a fun game not that long ago. It was a very cinematic ending, one of the top finishes we've ever had. It helps that I won, I'm sure. I've been thinking of redirecting some of my writing hobby to Heroscape. As a warm up today I thought I'd cover the ending to that game. This obviously isn't intended to be "canon" (we play with VC in my house), just a fun, bite-sized story that people might like to read. I might add more of our games in the future; I have some favorites in mind. Maybe some sort of "Game Reports, but Fun" series.
For reference, I was playing a cowboy and Jandar soulborg army, and my girlfriend was playing a knights and Quasatch Hunters army. The only way for that sort of matchup to make sense lore-wise was some sort of betrayal (the cowboys and soulborgs I was playing were the alliance, Jandar, Aquilla, Einar, etc. while the knights are also Jandar and the Hunters are Aquilla).
Anyway, here is Betrayal. Enjoy!
Betrayal
Mad Dog Malone squeezed the trigger. The shot echoed through the storm, clanging off the figure on the far side of the aqueduct.
“The hell?” Malone muttered. Thunder drowned out his next shot. The figure advanced, the gloomy shape growing through the pounding rain. Malone stepped back. Pierce and Murphy’s bodies lay still in the shallow water lapping over his ankles.
To his left and far below, gunfire lit up the jungle brush through the sheet of rain. Quasatch corpses piled up next to Deltacron as the machine twisted, ripping through the underbrush and hacking any hunter that got too close. Dents covered its steel hide, and circuitry trailed from its legs and the barrel spun over and over. There was no pain, only glory for the alliance, and punishment for this betrayal.
Malone’s toes stung with bitter cold. He grunted as the aqueduct waters shimmered and froze. Lightning crashed through the next sky, blinding him in the reflection of steel. The gun clattered to the aqueduct and splashed into the water.
“You!” Malone roared.
Sir Gilbert sneered, thrusting his sword and drawing blood from Malone’s shoulder. Rage filled his core, the betrayal fueling hatred he’d never felt before. His fished smashed into Gilbert’s armor in a flurry of blows, knocking the flag out of his hands. Malone scooped up the symbol, countering Gilbert’s next strike.
“You don’t deserve this flag.” Malone seethed, his nose inches from Gilbert. And yet, for all the pain, all the suffering, all of his friends dead at his feet, there was no recognition in the knight’s eyes.
A screech echoed off the aqueduct. Malone turned to see one last hunter hurl itself from the bushes and bury its club in Deltacron’s heart.
“Deltacron!” Malone screamed. The soulborg hurtled to the ground in a steaming heap of metal. The lights on its front blinked twice, the signal they’d developed in their time in training.
Friends.
The light died.
White-hot pain seared his side as Gilbert thrust his sword through his stomach.
“For the glory of Utgar,” the flagbearer intoned. As Gilbert raised the sword for one last blow, Malone drove the flag of Jandar under his helmet, letting out every last drop of hatred and vengeance in a primal scream. Expressionless, Gilbert toppled backward into the waters.
Malone groaned, clutching his side. Tears mixed with the rain as he crawled to the side of the aqueduct, fishing for his gun until his fingers touched the cold metal and lifted it from the maroon waves. He leaned against the aqueduct barrier, clutching his wound and supporting his shooting arm. The last Quasatch celebrated over Deltacron’s husk, raising its club and barking its war cry, the cry Malone knew all too well.
“You bastards,” Malone muttered.
Lightning flashed, illuminating the jungle. The crack of the gun stopped the hunter’s celebration. He watched the creature’s body crumple with grim satisfaction. The last of the dissenters, gone. Alliance secrets, safe.
The gun slipped from his fingers, falling to the grass below. He slumped against the wall, the chill from his side spreading to his eyes. He splayed his fingers, soaked with blood. He’d seen this before.
Malone glanced over at Gilbert’s body. “You were…the best of us…”
He closed his eyes, the familiar feeling of death carrying him away.
P.S. Like any good writer, I'm always happy to hear feedback, whether it is positive or constructively critical. Let me know what you think! Also, as a shameless self-promotion, I do have several fiction novels available on Amazon. You can find the newest one here. If you enjoyed these stories, you may enjoy my other work, even if they don't have anything to do with your favorite game.
Please enjoy my newest story, Sniper.
Sniper
Spoiler Alert!
This myth has been written for quite some time, and in anticipation of my online tournament starring Dr. Maverick, I've been saving this story of Deadeye Dan. The myth comes from a casual game against Chris Perkins where I ran a practice game for a Scapecon event. The event in question was Delta Rainbow Wars, although Chris did so well at all the Scapecon main events that he ended up not playing in this event. The format called for at least 55 points from 5 different generals. A Kurrok army fit well in this, and I like the elementals, so I played it into his wyrmlings and phantom knights army. With 55 points left, Dan fit perfectly into my build (in Delta). Sharp readers with knowledge of Dan's card and abilities might catch why the ending was so stunning, and so memorable. And of course, I took a lot of creativity with the backstory of the game. Enjoy!
Spoiler Alert!
The ground squelched under Dan’s boots as he trudged up the hillside, swatting the mosquito buzzing around his ear. The silence was short-lived among the cacophony of frogs, bugs, and birds in the dusk of the marsh. The dampness of the grass faded as he scrambled up the small incline, leaving the shade of the occasional tree behind.
This is where Ullar places me? After all the work I’ve done patching his troops. He doesn’t see me as a soldier, not ol’ Dan Maverick. Send him out to clear out the buffalo, away from the fighting.
He still remembered the glint in Mr. Pierce’s eyes as Miss Crawford headed out on assignment with him. Murphy and Sullivan had joined, of course. They’d even taken that snake McCreech.
“Sorry, I prefer someone who can handle a gun,” Pierce said with a smirk. “You best stay with the wounded, doctor. We wouldn’t want you getting in our way.”
That was the last time he’d seen any of them. Word had gotten out about a leak in Jandar’s forces. Well, that wasn’t any of his concern. He’d been sent out here to round up one of Utgar’s own defectors. Dan didn’t know the fellow, but he’d heard some cockamamied tale about elemental forces working on the man. And as Ullar had no stake in the elemental game, Dr. Dan Maverick was sent out to collect him.
They think this is all I’m good for. Bandaging up elves by day, and acting as a delivery boy at night! I’ll get a chance to prove myself soon enough.
A loud fwoosh spilled across the orchestra of evening critters. Dan paused. He’d spent many nights out on the range, and he knew the sound of a campfire being extinguished.
Who’d be setting up camp out here?
Dan reached behind his back and unstrapped his rifle. The .50 cal Sharps was the last relic of his life on Earth. Cradling it in his arms brought back memories of prairie life, of simpler times, of his fa—
Dan shook those thoughts away. No use sinking into the past again. Not when he had the future just up the embankment. He slunk up the hill, his weapon at the ready, as the rush of extinguished flames came more rapidly.
Fire flared across the marsh. A large creature, grotesque in nature, danced around the reeds, his staff commanding the flame. Ghostly figures flickered in and out of vision, striking at the flames, and at the creature.
This is what commands the elementals? And those apparitions—that is Utgar’s doing! Then that means—
The last of the flames died. The phantoms closed in, and the creature, which Dan now knew to be the defector, swung at them with his staff, dispelling the images while their spectral swords pierced its side. The last phantom collided with the creature, and it splashed into the marsh, fully prone. The phantom swung its sword down, which the creature blocked with its staff. The creature looked across the field to Dan as it struggled to keep the blade above its throat. A garbled voice punctured the twilight.
“Help me!” it cried.
“Help me, daddy!”
Dan laughed, tying the laces on the doll’s boots and handing her to his giggling daughter.
“One of these days, you’ll have to learn that yourself,” he said, grinning.
“I’m headed to the bank with Eva, dear,” Adelaide said. “You’ll be along shortly, won’t you?”
Dan glanced at the papers on his desk. “I’ll be right down. Tell Lester I said hello, and that he’d be welcome in for his yearly checkup any time. He’s about five years overdue by my count.”
Adelaide smiled. “I’m sure he’ll be delighted for his yearly reminder. Come along, Eva. Say goodbye.”
The little girl with short brunette pigtails by her leg waved her doll around. “Goodbye, daddy!”
Dan returned her small wave. “Goodbye, Eva. I will see you both tonight for supper.”
They left Dan to his work, of which he had very little. Life was quiet in Lead, a drastic change from the bustle of the Chicago streets. And while Dan did miss electricity, he wouldn’t trade his plot on the prairie for the world. After all, he’d met Adelaide here, back when he was a young physician. The simple life they’d built for themselves was outshone by any amenity the modern world could afford.
A cat meowed outside, reminding Dan to shuffle his papers away. He took his hat from the coat rack just inside his small, makeshift office in their house. A storm was coming, and his hair didn’t sit quite right when it rained.
He saddled their horse, petting the needy, former stray. He’d catch up to Adelaide and Eva quickly, though the walk to town was short. They might already be in the bank; it was in his interest to hurry. He’d promised Eva a dinner at the saloon tonight, and she was quite a handful when she was hungry.
The wind at his back picked up as he trotted into town. The clouds, darkening the evening sun, seemed to be moving away. Yet the strength of the breeze hid the cries of fear until it was too late.
He turned onto Main Street. The bank sat halfway down the short stretch of dirt, and was completely deserted, save for one masked man. A gunshot fired, wood splintered, and screams rang out even against the wind.
Dan snapped the reins, tugging the bit away. Over his shoulder, he saw the masked man raise his pistol. Dan unhooked himself from the saddle and tumbled over the side. His bones rattled as he slammed into the dirt. The bullet sung through the saddle, burning a line across the leather. Through his horse’s legs, he drew his own pistol and put a bullet straight through the man’s chest. The masked man jerked and collapsed.
Dan scrambled to his feet. Bandits. This had happened before, once, just after he’d moved to the frontier. There would be more, and this pistol wouldn’t do it. He climbed back on the horse, racing for the farmhouse and praying.
In minutes, he had his trusty Sharps strapped to his back while he scrambled up the back of the grocery store. He took up a post on the roof, peering into the windows of the bank. Men with bandanas rushed around, waving pistols at the employees. And in the corner—Adelaide and Eva cowered under the watchful eye of a bandit.
Dan’s eyes darkened, matching the clouds above. How dare that man frighten his family! He would be first.
Dan squeezed the trigger, feeling the extension of himself buck in his arms. Chaos erupted from the bank as the window exploded. Glass shattering, women screaming, bandits shouting, storm clouds rumbling. The bandits pressed themselves against cover in the bank, but Dan was merciless, dropping them one at a time as bullets kicked up brick next to him.
Movement caught his eye. His wife and daughter, dragged out by the last two bandits, pistols pointed right at their faces. Adelaide struggled against the bandit, but his other arm locked tight around her throat.
“Stay still,” Dan murmured, as she looked up to meet his gaze. “Don’t move.”
Cold steel pressed against the back of his neck. “Funny. I was thinking the same thing.”
Adelaide dug her fingers into the bandit’s arm while Eva wailed. Though the chokehold she locked eyes with Dan. And behind her, his daughter screamed.
“Help me, daddy!”
Dan swung up the rifle, his hands folding into the gun with the instinct of a man who’d fired it a thousand times.
I won’t fail again.
He grimaced at the inscription on the side of the gun while the phantom’s blade edged closer to the creature’s throat. There wasn’t time for the enchantment to activate. This was a good, old-fashioned hunting shot.
Dan looked down the open sights, graduated out well past the phantom. He breathed, and his heartbeat slowed.
The crack of the gunshot quieted the nighttime symphony, if only for a moment. When the critters returned to their evening song, the phantom was gone, its ghostly blade dispelled with the others. The creature, some type of goblin-esque form, picked itself up from the murky, shallow water and limped over to Dan.
“Thank you,” it said, the words half growl and half warble.
“Are you Kurrok?”
“I am.”
“I’m Dr. Dan Maverick. I’m here to escort you to safety on behalf of the alliance. But first, sit while I dress your wounds.”
The creature obeyed, gratitude swirling in its obsidian eyes. The hobgoblin laid in the cool grass while Dan bandaged up the cuts on its body. And as the Sharps rifle glinted in the rising moonlight, his heartache eased, just for a moment.
Trophy
Spoiler Alert!
In a short break from the typical myth format, this one is not about a real-life Heroscape game. This was a bio I wrote for a unit I submitted to an NGC contest. The unit was spooky, but unfortunately the bios weren't displayed with the units. I think this vignette is too fun to not have any eyes on it, so here it is! (TW: This is the most gruesome one yet. Happy Halloween!)
I also tossed in a photo of the unit and the card so you have a visual while you read:
Mini:
Card:
Trophy
Spoiler Alert!
The hunter pulled the collar of his fur coat closer to his chin. A strong gust, unusual in the dense forest, whipped across his face, stinging any exposed skin it could.
“Dad, what are you doing?” another man whined. He scuffed his boot against the corpse at his feet, a beautiful stag with a hole in its neck. “Take a picture already!” His friend laughed as the body shook from the impact and swung his own leg into the rear of the creature.
“Look, it’s trying to get away!” his friend mocked, driving his foot into the barrow. The massive carcass jerked, and the hunter’s son joined in, tossing his own gun into the snow.
The hunter smirked, watching the men kick his future wall mount. He held up his camera, the small device he carried around to document the sport. Every kill needed a frame, and this was the biggest he’d ever bagged. Nothing would match this trophy.
He looked through the lens, unfocused through the thin haze in the trees. The man wiped his nose and scrubbed the lens, smearing a few snowflakes across the screen.
Screams ripped through the frozen air as his son slammed into a tree. Blood spurted from holes in his chest and neck. He scraped up along the trunk, the bark shredding the skin off his back. His friend whipped his gun around, yelling at the hunter's son but unsure of what to shoot. Chunks of flesh tore away from the son's face, pulling off his cheeks and eyes. The friend fired, putting a bullet into the son’s skull and silencing the piercing shrieks.
The friend felt a sharp tug. His head was wet, and so hot. Something else drove deep into his ribs. He tried to look down, but he couldn’t move his head. Hands reached up to feel the blood-stained antler rammed through his throat. His chest cavity split open, torn apart by the same unseen force. The halves of his body flung into the trees, spraying red onto the pristine ice crystals on the pine needles.
The hunter dropped the camera, pinned to his spot in the snow. The camera landed at an angle, pointing up above the stag. Through the lens, a hulking creature turned away from the carcass and toward the hunter. A long maw with sharp fangs snarled, and the creature stood, towering over the man. Its powerful hind legs stalked toward him, making no imprint on the snow.
Lengthy claws reached through the man’s chest, inflicting no wounds but taking something far, far more valuable. Its head snapped open, devouring the intangible. When its feast was over, it discarded the body. The hunter thudded against a tree and tumbled to the ground. His intact form would be a clue to the other invaders. No human would take life in this forest again.
And if they did, well…
Vetrskraak was waiting.
Hero
Spoiler Alert!
This is my all-time favorite moment from Heroscape. This was a game between my girlfriend and I. She had built a large castle map where the castle was a ring with lava pools in the middle, and the Wannok glyph in the dead center of that. The game got super tense, and the ending was shocking, to say the least, especially because of how the battle swung at the end and how abruptly it all happened. I've been wanting to write this one for a while. I have more stories in mind but in my opinion, I don't think this will ever be topped! (Whether or not I've portrayed this properly will be up to you. Enjoy!)
Hero
Spoiler Alert!
Agent Carr spat the muddy taste of orc blood from his mouth. Sunlight reflected off the castle walk, seared smooth from heat rising from the bubbling lava below. The glint blinded an orc, sending the baying brute tumbling to his death in the molten rock.
Carr grinned, facing down the army of orcs standing across the crumbled center of the castle top. The Einar support was worthless, anyway. The general sent his troops in elite squads of three, but Carr only needed three things: his gun, his sword, and his tunes.
Carr dialed in his earbuds. A gift from the Omnicrons, it loaded up exactly the song in his head. And today he was feeling…classical. The orc leader, strapped atop a massive dinosaur, screamed and thrust his sword in Carr’s direction. The dinosaur’s feet dug into the stone, and the orcs charged toward him, their cries drowned out by his humming to an ancient, 20th century song.
Holdin’ out for a hero…
Carr fired, popping the heads of the nearest orcs. The others clambered over the bodies, barely noticing their fallen brethren. The sword, longer than he was tall, sung through the air, taking off three more heads.
He’s gotta be strong, and he’s gotta be fast…
Carr whirled through the blade gruts, leaping off the old castle battlements and throwing their own small blades back at the gruts. As they overwhelmed him, he smacked his gun against his sword and spun, firing and slicing in the same movement.
And he’s gotta be fresh from the fight…
Carr smirked, blood pouring from his wounds, electrified from the adrenaline. The orc leader bore down on him, the thunderous steps from the dinosaur shaking the foundation of the castle. Carr used the piles of bodies as stepping stones, bounding up toward it. The monster snapped at him, but he flipped above the gaping maw, landing on its scaly skull. He drove the sword straight through its brain, and the death throes threw both riders from its body.
I need a hero…
The music faded. The orc leader stared him down, holding out the spear. Confidence filled the creature’s face. It had survived countless battles, killed enemies and allies alike. This was an elite orc officer, and its prowess in hand to hand combat was unmatched. The orc snapped the spear upright and shifted its feet into a fighting stance.
Carr pulled the trigger. The body jerked back and crumpled next to the tail of the beast.
I am a hero… Carr hummed to himself.
Down below, a lone Soulborg marched toward its prize, a glowing skull set dead center in the lava-strewn paths of the castle. This was the key, an artifact that would change the course of the war. The vestige had already destroyed the Zettian’s companion, but it had no protocols to register the loss. The servos whirred as it stalked toward it, the heat radiating off the heavy armor. At last, its primary objective would be achieved.
The movement caught Carr’s eye. He held up a hand to block the sun as he teetered on the edge of the castle battlements. He recognized the insignia on the shoulder plate—Utgar. The Soulborg’s oculi rotated toward a shape just outside the castle. One of Einar’s, a samurai engaged in combat with two orcs. The only other survivor of the battle, and the target of the relic’s power. Already, as the Soulborg reached for the glowing skull, thin tendrils of light connected it to the samurai.
Carr eyed the sixty-foot drop. In his head, the song sprung to life. He pulled sunglasses from his pocket and slid them over his nose. His battles played in his head, like when he faced down a horde of zombies in the abandoned Kyrie village, or when he used an Omnicron engine to jet himself up to a dragon and slay it. Some had called him the most badass man to ever live; he just called it going to work. Carr took a running step back and leapt into the air.
I am a hero!
The Soulborg head rotated, tracking the human missile as it screamed down toward him, the sword aimed directly at its chest.
Crunch.
The Soulborg observed the splatter of bones and organs at its feet. Motion tracking software scanned the smear of blood, looking for any signs of life. The visual analysis returned, and the result was almost surprising to the robot; the human was more dead than it had ever seen any human be dead before. The Soulborg turned, even slower as the logic circuit struggled to process what it had just seen. The samurai sprinted toward the Soulborg, the dead gruts strewn behind him. The barrel touched the skull as the samurai lunged for it. The artifact glowed, filling the cavern with impossible light.
When the Soulborg’s visuals returned, only a thin pile of dust was left of the samurai. It picked up the skull and began the slow march away from the castle. Utgar would be pleased.
Marshmallows
Spoiler Alert!
This story is partly to address a critique from Tales of Valhalla Podcast, and partly to show off the badassery of Kaemon Awa. This game was from an OHS playoff game between Megasilver and myself. It was brought to mind because ToV requested some Airborne, and this game was funny because the Airborne [redacted] and Kaemon essentially soloed an entire army. This one is definitely less serious, and I hope ToV doesn't mind me infringing on their IP (this was their idea, after all). This story wouldn't be the same without the Aftermath Chronicles. Enjoy!
Marshmallows
Spoiler Alert!
Kaemon Awa leaned against a tree, the rough palm bark scraping into his armor. This area was supposed to be clear, yet jungle brush spread throughout the cracked roads and desolate pillars. A holy site or a trading market—whatever once stood, it had succumbed completely to nature. How old were those reports that they still marked sniper positions? No, a different approach was necessary. The Marro scouting advance would stay hidden for now, but stealth was a closer friend to Kaemon.
He advanced down the road, bow drawn. Wind rustled the jungle brush, the breeze cooling his back. Good. A strong tailwind would only expedite the arrival of his support.
The leaves twisted and bent. Kaemon drew his bow, firing into the bark of a tree. Branches settled, but his bowstring remained taught. That was no wind.
Guttural cries pierced the howls of the wind as creatures tore themselves from the trees, clawing and slicing at Kaemon. He let loose, arrows shredding the leaves, but the projectiles embedded themselves in the trees instead. The humanoids lunged at him again, extending themselves into the road, and this time the arrows thudded into their skulls. He pulled the arrows from the bodies and nocked them into his bow as more howls echoed around him.
***
“Drop zone is approaching!” Lt. Dan barked. “Kaemon Awa is solo in enemy territory, and he needs an extraction ASAP!”
“Yessir!” Henderson and Gimp fastened their parachutes as the airship dipped in the strong winds.
“Sir, what’s an ‘extraction’?” Toothpick asked.
“Wind speeds are not ideal,” Lt. Dan continued, ignoring him, “but we’re well past listening to sense! That man down there is the strongest warrior Einar has, and we’re not letting him go down without a fight!”
“Yessir!” Toothpick shouted, reaching to his belt, and pulling the pin on a grenade.
“Toothpick!”
***
Kaemon raced through the jungle brush, hacking at the plant creatures with his sword. The distant thunder grew louder, drowning out the wind. He drew his bow again, letting loose arrows down the slope. The roar hit him like a tidal wave, knocking him to his feet. Ice crystals hung from his snapped bowstring, and his metal armor bit into his skin. He gasped, diving behind a tree as three vicious heads snapped at him. He lunged over the chimera’s wings, running along the scales and plunging his sword into its back. The heads twisted and flailed as the blizzard blasted him from the monster. He slid to a stop as an explosion rocked the forest. Where the hell were the Airborne Elite?
***
“That might be the dumbest thing you’ve ever done,” Henderson said, looking at the crater far below. “And I once saw you try to pet a rock.”
“I swear it was moving!” Toothpick insisted.
“Doesn’t matter,” Lt. Dan said, pulling himself to the side of the airship. “This is our opening, now or never!”
“Wait!” Toothpick cried as Gimp leaned out the side. “Can’t you read me a bedtime story first?”
***
Kaemon leaned against the tree, his eyes closed. Once glance and he could picture the whole glade. One crunch on a blade of grass and he could picture the Marro stepping in just the right spot.
He whipped around, releasing the bow. Thump.
The Marro’s body crumpled to the ground. He spun back behind the tree, picturing the others’ confusion. What was the weapon, where did the arrows come from, were there more…?
Yes, there were. He leaned from behind the tree. Thump.
The Marro returned fire, blasting wildly in his direction. Thump.
The firing slowed, the last of them retreating. Thump.
He drew his sword as a winged shadow fell over the tree.
***
“Toothpick, what’s gotten into you? A bedtime story? It’s the middle of the afternoon! We’ve gotta drop right now!”
Toothpick averted his eyes from the lieutenant.
“You know how you told me to pack the parachutes? And…remember how I said I wanted to bring a snack along for the flight?”
Henderson unstrapped his chute, turning the bag upside down to empty its contents. Marshmallows spilled from the bag and scattered over the floor.
“I almost jumped, too!” Gimp said, opening his pack to find even more marshmallows.
“Where did you even find marshmallows on Valhalla?” Lt. Dan asked, too stunned to be angry.
“Well, you know how the air elementals look so fluffy? They have some cousins called the marsh mallowmentals, and they just poop these things out wherever they go…”
Lt. Dan buried his head in his hands.
“Turn the ship around, Nesbitt,” he said, looking out into the jungle. “God help him…”
***
Swords clashed as the wind raged. Kaemon swung at the hooded Kyrie, who blocked every blow with powerful strikes. The weight of the battle pressed on the samurai, and one last hit snapped his sword in half. The Kyrie thrust, slicing through Kaemon’s stomach. He gasped, crumpling to the ground. The Kyrie stepped over him, raising his sword. The hood fell away, pulled back by the maelstrom.
“For the glory of Utgar,” Concan intoned.
A huge hammer smashed into Concan’s wings. The air shimmered and waved as the Sentinels of Grax blipped in and out, slicing and crushing the Kyrie. One final blow rent Concan’s skull asunder, and he fell to the grass next to Kaemon.
The silent Sentinels held out their hands, pulling Kaemon to his feet. Kaemon bowed, and they bent low as well, their robes flowing, disappearing, and regenerating. As they escorted him back to the path and away from the jungle, Kaemon looked to the sky, wondering what this betrayal would mean.
Silence
Spoiler Alert!
This story is from a game during a tournament I had very recently, during January of 2023. I hosted this tournament in Nebraska, so I'd brought a pretty weird army of 4x Granite Guardians and Johnny Sullivan. My opponent was really funny and friendly, and that was one of the most fun games I've ever played as we both had pretty goofy armies. However, the ending really sealed the deal for me as one of my top games ever. Enjoy!
Silence
Spoiler Alert!
A whimper floated through the air, piercing the stillness of the forest. Johnny Sullivan opened his eyes, a scowl plastered under his mustache.
Is it too much to ask for a little silence?
He lashed out, his boot smashing into the face of the wounded Anubian Wolf. Fangs splattered across the mossy stones, the grotesque body convulsing in death throes.
Better put that varmint outta its misery.
The shotgun blast echoed through the trees. Birds screeched and took flight, evacuating their perches on the looming, twisting branches.
Johnny winced. The ringing in his ear grew with each blast, and now it wouldn’t fade. He spat on the carcass, regretting that he’d wasted his last moment of silence on an Utgar grunt.
Stones shifted by the tree next to him. Gravel and granite swirled from the dirt until a mass of heaving rock taller than he stood next to him.
“Howdy,” Johnny drawled, tipping the brim of his hat. “Thought you boys might be barn sour the way I left ya behind. Y’all finish of the last of ‘em?”
The Granite Guardian lifted its arm, a mass of dusty coal. The end formed into a recognizable gesture. It was signaling a number. One.
“Whacha mean? One left?” Johnny shrugged. “No odds to me.”
The elementar lowered its arm.
“What? Y’all can’t scare up one wolf?”
He glared at the sentient stone. Indents at the top gave the impression of eyes. And in those eyes were mountains of fear.
Wind rustled the leaves, blowing a thick aura over the desolate path. Johnny blinked as the darkness grew, swallowing down the overwhelming fear. He gritted his teeth and wiped his brow with a clammy hand. His heart constricted in his chest, squeezing and squeezing until it might burst.
Johnny dropped to his knees, reaching out a hand to warn the guardian. That dread could only mean one thing.
“Esenwein,” he gasped.
A screaming flurry of crimson terror burst from the trees, crashing into Johnny and throwing him down the path. His knuckles cracked on the ruined pavement, knocking the shotgun from his hand. The guardian groaned as the beast flailed at its chest, tearing the elementar apart.
Get the gun, dammit. Get the gun!
His vision blurred, the stench of fear burying itself deep behind his eyes.
Get the gun.
His fingers stretched toward the weapon.
Get…the…gun…
His hand grasped the barrel. A surge of confidence shot through him, and he rolled onto his back, aiming the shotgun at the creature.
Its eyes turned to pierce his soul. Blood and spittle dripped from its chin. Its scarred, distorted face sneered at him, claws still twitching from the kill. But there was no mistaking those eyes. The monster was still an Esenwein.
His finger rested on the trigger. The creature shifted, bounding away through the trees. He squeezed, the shot piercing its shoulder as it fled. It howled a violent, soul-rending shriek before vanishing behind a tree.
Johnny scrambled to his feet, charging down the path and hurdling over crumbling building foundations. He rounded the bend to see the Esenwein creature tearing into another guardian. Its head thrust into the rock, sputtering and choking. Johnny watched in horror as the wound on its shoulder healed.
He fired again. The Esenwein took flight, bounding between trees and clawing at the guardians.
“Run!” Johnny bellowed, but the guardians could hardly move. He swung the barrel level again, but the creature alighted over a crumbled wall. A terrified guardian scraped from behind the ruin, but bloodred hands restrained it.
Johnny swung the sight around. This was his only chance, before it destroyed the rest of the guardian advance and came for him.
He breathed. The ringing in his ears finally settled, allowing him a moment of peace that cut through the darkness. He could see his target clearly, the guardian in the creature’s clutches.
“Give Iskra my regards.”
The explosion rocked the forest. Dust and stone shredded the trees and ruin, wiping out the area. Johnny ducked his head as gravel stung his face and hands. He coughed, wiping the grit from his eyes.
The creature’s body slumped against the ruins, torn to bits. Nothing could bring it back.
The other guardians turned to face him. Johnny gripped the gun, but instead they bent, seemingly bowing in gratitude. The wall of stone sank into the ground, disappearing until not a single pebble remained.
Cool, crisp air blew across the gunslinger’s face as sunlight glittered through the trees. Johnny closed his eyes, breathing in the sweet, sweet silence.
Betrayal
Spoiler Alert!
My gf and I played a fun game not that long ago. It was a very cinematic ending, one of the top finishes we've ever had. It helps that I won, I'm sure. I've been thinking of redirecting some of my writing hobby to Heroscape. As a warm up today I thought I'd cover the ending to that game. This obviously isn't intended to be "canon" (we play with VC in my house), just a fun, bite-sized story that people might like to read. I might add more of our games in the future; I have some favorites in mind. Maybe some sort of "Game Reports, but Fun" series.
For reference, I was playing a cowboy and Jandar soulborg army, and my girlfriend was playing a knights and Quasatch Hunters army. The only way for that sort of matchup to make sense lore-wise was some sort of betrayal (the cowboys and soulborgs I was playing were the alliance, Jandar, Aquilla, Einar, etc. while the knights are also Jandar and the Hunters are Aquilla).
Anyway, here is Betrayal. Enjoy!
Betrayal
Spoiler Alert!
Mad Dog Malone squeezed the trigger. The shot echoed through the storm, clanging off the figure on the far side of the aqueduct.
“The hell?” Malone muttered. Thunder drowned out his next shot. The figure advanced, the gloomy shape growing through the pounding rain. Malone stepped back. Pierce and Murphy’s bodies lay still in the shallow water lapping over his ankles.
To his left and far below, gunfire lit up the jungle brush through the sheet of rain. Quasatch corpses piled up next to Deltacron as the machine twisted, ripping through the underbrush and hacking any hunter that got too close. Dents covered its steel hide, and circuitry trailed from its legs and the barrel spun over and over. There was no pain, only glory for the alliance, and punishment for this betrayal.
Malone’s toes stung with bitter cold. He grunted as the aqueduct waters shimmered and froze. Lightning crashed through the next sky, blinding him in the reflection of steel. The gun clattered to the aqueduct and splashed into the water.
“You!” Malone roared.
Sir Gilbert sneered, thrusting his sword and drawing blood from Malone’s shoulder. Rage filled his core, the betrayal fueling hatred he’d never felt before. His fished smashed into Gilbert’s armor in a flurry of blows, knocking the flag out of his hands. Malone scooped up the symbol, countering Gilbert’s next strike.
“You don’t deserve this flag.” Malone seethed, his nose inches from Gilbert. And yet, for all the pain, all the suffering, all of his friends dead at his feet, there was no recognition in the knight’s eyes.
A screech echoed off the aqueduct. Malone turned to see one last hunter hurl itself from the bushes and bury its club in Deltacron’s heart.
“Deltacron!” Malone screamed. The soulborg hurtled to the ground in a steaming heap of metal. The lights on its front blinked twice, the signal they’d developed in their time in training.
Friends.
The light died.
White-hot pain seared his side as Gilbert thrust his sword through his stomach.
“For the glory of Utgar,” the flagbearer intoned. As Gilbert raised the sword for one last blow, Malone drove the flag of Jandar under his helmet, letting out every last drop of hatred and vengeance in a primal scream. Expressionless, Gilbert toppled backward into the waters.
Malone groaned, clutching his side. Tears mixed with the rain as he crawled to the side of the aqueduct, fishing for his gun until his fingers touched the cold metal and lifted it from the maroon waves. He leaned against the aqueduct barrier, clutching his wound and supporting his shooting arm. The last Quasatch celebrated over Deltacron’s husk, raising its club and barking its war cry, the cry Malone knew all too well.
“You bastards,” Malone muttered.
Lightning flashed, illuminating the jungle. The crack of the gun stopped the hunter’s celebration. He watched the creature’s body crumple with grim satisfaction. The last of the dissenters, gone. Alliance secrets, safe.
The gun slipped from his fingers, falling to the grass below. He slumped against the wall, the chill from his side spreading to his eyes. He splayed his fingers, soaked with blood. He’d seen this before.
Malone glanced over at Gilbert’s body. “You were…the best of us…”
He closed his eyes, the familiar feeling of death carrying him away.
P.S. Like any good writer, I'm always happy to hear feedback, whether it is positive or constructively critical. Let me know what you think! Also, as a shameless self-promotion, I do have several fiction novels available on Amazon. You can find the newest one here. If you enjoyed these stories, you may enjoy my other work, even if they don't have anything to do with your favorite game.
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I guess I assumed most people were caught up on VC lore. Deltacron is a Jandar VC soulborg and Malone is an Aquilla VC gunslinger. I set the premise up as a "betrayal" of Jandar and Aquilla by Sir Gilbert (Jandar) and the Quasatch (Aquilla). It really doesn't make too much sense, but it's not like my gf and I were too focused on lore when we were drafting. Just wanted to share this fun battle ending and have it make some sense why we each finished with mixed units opposing each other. It was a fun exercise though, I think I'll be sharing more in the future 
